


An Old Song Forgotten (and Another Newly Learned)

by shootngstxr



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dancing Lessons, Fluff, M/M, aziraphale's awful at dancing and you know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 22:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootngstxr/pseuds/shootngstxr
Summary: “Never did get to finish that dance,” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. He slid a coaster under the cup of cocoa he’d been drinking from.Crowley laughed. “Are you tempting me, angel?”The other cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. “Yes, well, I suppose a little temptation here and there can’t be helped,” he said primly. He extended a hand to Crowley. “Would you dance with me, my dear?”





	An Old Song Forgotten (and Another Newly Learned)

It was late in the morning when Crowley entered the shop, whistling cheerfully. As per usual, there was no one else in the shop, just as the owner, he knew, liked it. Sunlight was streaming plenty into the old bookstore at this time of day, illuminating the layers of dust that swirled around the store.* What _was_ unusual, however, was the gramophone that now occupied the small coffee table where the phone usually was. It was playing a glaringly familiar tune, melodiously old-fashioned and distant. Crowley frowned, trying to place it.

 

* * *

*Not that any of it ever touched the bookshelves, of course; Aziraphale was careful not to let that happen.

* * *

 

“Crowley!” The demon turned to see Aziraphale rushing towards him, having just emerged from the bookstore’s backroom. “My dear, you should have told me you were coming early, I would have put a kettle on.”

“Hm?” Crowley checked his watch. He was indeed early, by a couple hours for their lunch date, in fact. Not that it mattered, of course, he was well done with the day’s tempting in any case, and there was certainly no sense in wasting a perfectly good morning all by himself. “Ah, sorry about that, must’ve lost track of the time. You don’t mind, do you?”

Aziraphale huffed, looking slightly annoyed. “Not at all, not at all,” he insisted nevertheless. He brought out a pair of cups for the two of them. A kettle started boiling in the distance. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Getting lazy, angel?” he asked.

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Aziraphale shot back, gesturing to his shoes, unnaturally shiny for the months they’d been worn.

Crowley shrugged, making a noncommittal noise. He sauntered over to his usual chair on the side of the shop and sank into it, revelling in the familiarity. Record continued, playing in the background. Crowley listened to it curiously.

“Where have I heard that song before?” he asked Aziraphale, nodding at the gramophone.

The angel looked bemused. “My dear, you really _are_ getting old,” he tutted. He put a mug of cocoa in front of the demon, sighing as he took a sip from his own. “The Ritz, 1940.” Crowley stared at him blankly. “Our anniversary,” Aziraphale reminded him, more insistently.

Crowley squinted, eyes turning to thin slits in the dark. “‘S that the one where we got kicked out for public indecency?”*

“Never did get to finish that dance,” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. He slid a coaster under the cup of cocoa he’d been drinking from.**

Crowley laughed. “Are you tempting me, angel?”

The other cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. “Yes, well, I suppose a little temptation here and there can’t be helped,” he said primly. He extended a hand to Crowley. “Would you dance with me, my dear?” There was an odd sort of twinkle in his eye as he spoke, and Crowley grinned at the angel’s proposition.

“My, my,” he drawled, taking Aziraphale’s hand with his own and placing the other at the small of his back. Crowley relished in the shudder that went through him at the motion. “Corrupting an angel?” He paused to send Aziraphale a wicked grin. “Beelzebub would be impressed.”

Aziraphale huffed, even as he intertwined his fingers with Crowley’s “Oh, shut it, you old serpent.”

Crowley glanced up at this dancing partner. The angel’s golden eyes were fixed to the floor, brow furrowed in concentration, and Crowley almost laughed at the sight. If he was being honest, Aziraphale had never really gotten good at any dance other than the gavotte, and trying even a simple box step often resulted in nothing short of a catastrophe. A strand of long, curly hair fell across Aziraphale’s face. Crowley moved to brush it away, letting his hand linger on the other’s freckled cheek. The angel blushed, eyes turning downcast. They moved closer, closer…

And then Aziraphale stepped on his foot. It was bound to happen, really, Crowley mused as he winced and stepped backward, dropping the other’s hand. Angels, as a general rule, did not tend to be good at dancing.*** And though Aziraphale wasn’t your typical angel, he didn’t prove to be the exception.

 

* * *

*Neither of them could ever quite see what was so ‘indecent’ about them dancing together, and Aziraphale had nearly started an argument with one of the older gentlemen in the club in all the commotion.

**If Aziraphale ever noticed Crowley’s own mug ruining the varnish of his coffee table, he said nothing of it.

***Gabriel was downright dreadful at it, believe it or not. Aziraphale often held it over him, petty as it was.

* * *

 

 

Aziraphale winced sympathetically at the sudden motion. “Oh, goodness.” He flushed embarrassedly, biting his lip. “My apologies, my dear. I’m afraid this corporation’s got two left feet.”

Crowley couldn’t help himself. He snorted, the pain already quickly fading. “Yeah, this and every other corporation.”

The angel looked offended. “My dear!” he gasped, hand coming to his chest. “I didn’t- well, I mean…” Crowley grinned at his adorable flustering. “If that’s _really_ what you think of this whole dancing business…” Aziraphale was wringing his hands together now, the corners of his mouth turned downward into a frown.

The demon took a chance. He grabbed the other’s hand and, in one fluid motion, dipped him. “Not to worry, angel,” he grinned. “Just means we need a bit more practice.”

Aziraphale blinked. Then he laughed suddenly, a clear, ringing thing that seemed to echo across the room. Crowley pouted.

“Very nice, my dear,” Aziraphale beamed, all seriousness in his face suddenly gone. “Quite smooth of you.”

The demon groaned, nose wrinkling. He let Aziraphale stand up, shoving his hands into his dress pant pockets. “I thought it was romantic.”

“It was, it was!” his partner assured him, putting another record on. This one was more upbeat, modern. Crowley found himself tapping along to the beat. “It was just a bit… cheesy, really.”  
Crowley pulled a face. “Cheesy? Me?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Aziraphale hummed in response, gliding across the bookstore floor. He plucked the glasses from the demon’s eyes, setting it aside on the coffee table. Aziraphale seemed to soften as he stared at him, a fond smile settling across his lips. “Suppose that needs a bit of practice as well.”

Crowley tried and failed to hide his blush. “Suppose so.” And he took his hand once more.

 

It was late in the morning when Crowley entered the shop, whistling cheerfully. And it would be well into the evening when he finally left, a fond smile on his face and an old tune on his lips.

 

Author's Note:

I imagine the second song Crowley and Aziraphale dance to here is Young Folks by Peter Bjorn and John. 


End file.
